Different Kind of Free
by Bennie144
Summary: Ava has been a servant in a Roman household for 5 years. Upon escaping, she soon finds herself at Hadrian's Wall among the knights of her stories. There she becomes torn between two knights' affections. Will Ava ever find true freedom? LancOC GalahadOC
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters, plot details, or other bits of information having to do with the King Arthur movie or legends. The title was taken from a ZOEgirl song. Not mine.

Some nights she would lie awake, drifting between waking and sleeping, between present and past. That dusky hour before exhaustion took hold was the only time in which she could relive her memories freely. The rest of her time was centered firmly around the harsh reality of her present. Her daylight hours were devoted to an unwavering routine of work in a household that did not belong to her. She was grateful, as was expected of her, for the security with which she was provided, but she could not learn to love a life that was not her own. A servant's life. A grim future full of labor but lacking its fruits. However, her nighttime musings transported her back to a time when she had been free. She had even been happy.

_A small girl stood at the bank of a river, having just finished the day's wash for her pregnant mother. She was a dutiful child, loyal due to her love for her family. She normally would not have delayed her return for a moment, but now she lingered, mesmerized by the play of several boys of the village. Never in her decade of life had she seen anything so entrancing. Their game was one of war, neither surprising nor out of place at that time. The boys flew at each other with sticks and toy weapons, not yet understanding the meaning nor the necessity of their game, not knowing that they had already begun the training that would take them nearly two decades to complete. Their movements were clumsy now, but in time, they would learn the dance of deadly grace; they would be swift and efficient in battle, bordering on ruthlessness in their accuracy._

_The girl watched this phenomenon unfold and take shape before her. She felt the natural awe while watching them, but there was also a cold shudder of fear inside her. She feared for her brothers, though she had no reason. It was only a game. She stepped forward to return home, but a hand caught her wrist, halting her were she stood. _

"_I've got a prisoner!" a large boy shouted to his comrades, "Don't move, Ava, woman prisoners never fight back." Ava had not struggled; she did not want to spill her freshly cleaned clothes._

"_Let her go, Theran," another boy cried. He was much smaller than the first, but immediately conveyed great intelligence and empathy through his bright eyes._

"_I won't until you give me a reason to," Theran taunted. The smaller boy ran at Ava's captor and the two began to tussle. The other boys surrounded the pair and cheered them on. Ava quickly made her escape, looking back once to see both boys being congratulated by their friends for a fight well fought. She smiled at the unfathomable ways of boys and turned into her parents' home to help start dinner._

She sighed and turned over on her cot. The moon shone too brightly for sleep tonight. Rising and donning a light summer robe, she left the small room for the milky-blue courtyard. She paused briefly, remembering the reports of disturbances along the nearby countryside, but for tonight, she decided not to worry. It was too nice a night to be concerned with savages and war. A slight rustle alerted her of another's presence behind her, and she turned to see the strained face of her young mistress.

"Cardea," the lady of the house could not pronounce her barbarian name Ava, and she called her by the name she had given her, the name of the old Roman goddess, the protector of children, for that was one of the servant's duties.

"I couldn't sleep," she gave as her answer.

The frightened woman looked sharply at her. "Did you dream of them too?"

Cardea peered into the eyes of the woman who had been something of a friend these past five years. "Of whom do you speak?" she murmured in her accented Latin.

"The knights," the lady replied, "They come to fight the barbarians who attack this house." She looked out to the edges of forest a long distance off as the light breeze became a gust of strong wind. Cardea started at the strange declaration.

"Should I wake the children? I will protect them, Juliana. You needn't fear for them."

"Yes, go to them. They will be frightened and you alone can calm them."

Cardea nodded silently. She knew her mistress had always been jealous of the bond Cardea shared with the children. She had practically raised them, and they looked to her first for comfort and guidance. As she entered the nursery, the wails of the small children met her ears.

"Hush," she whispered, "don't cry little ones." She latched the door snugly behind her and sat the two children on her lap. Stroking their hair and rocking them slightly, she began to hum a tune from her own childhood. Beyond the room's walls, she heard the horses crying out in fear. Whether it was the wind or the commotion of the household that had woken them, the animals sensed the coming danger far more keenly than any of their human companions.

"Shall I tell you a story?" she smiled down at the toddling boy and the wide-eyed, thumb-sucking girl who reminded her so much of herself, "Once upon a time, there was a kingdom that was set upon by enemy soldiers. They ate all the food and stayed in the people's houses. The people of the kingdom could not defeat the enemy on their own. They didn't know how they would ever be rid of them, until…"

"Arthur!" the children cried.

"That's right!" Cardea laughed, "Arthur and his Knights of the East. They came to help the people and freed them from the enemies' clutches. The people were so thankful that they held a great feast to celebrate. No army dared attack the kingdom again because they knew it was under the protection of those knights."

"Cardea, will the knights come to free you?" the little girl asked innocently.

Cardea smiled. "Now, I'm not set upon, am I? This is my home now. It will be when you both have grown up and gotten married, and it will be even after that." Behind her smile, the dark cloud of dread dimmed the light in her eyes. Her worst fear was to remain a servant to this family until her death. They were not unkind people, but Cardea valued nothing more than her freedom. Since birth, she had been taught to cherish it above all else, even her own life.

"_Ava," her mother sat next her at the water's edge, bathing her toddling son, "you are so quiet today. What is wrong, little one?"_

_Ava remained silent until she had finished braiding her younger sister's hair. Watching the little girl run off to play, she sighed. "You have told me many times that one day I would be married. When the knights return from their Roman service, I will wed one of them."_

"_That is true. Your father served Rome, as your brother will someday. Since you are the daughter of a knight, you will marry the son of one of his comrades. You know this, but what is troubling you?"_

"_The knights, are they not free? I am free until I must marry, but they will never know freedom again." She frowned, confused as only a child can be by the traditional ways of the world._

"_Little one," her mother smiled, "marriage is not a tether as the Roman service is. It is the celebration of a bond between two people. That bond is so strong that it can never be broken, not even by death. When you are married, you will be free to be yourself with your husband. He will be the only one who truly understands you; you and he will be as one forever. That is true freedom."_

_Ava merely stared in awe at her mother. The knights had been gone for almost a year now. It would be fourteen years before they returned. She wondered how they could wait so long to be free. _

Cardea had dozed off in the warm room with the children next to her, but a loud thud against the door awoke her instantly.

"Hide in the cupboard, little ones," she told them, helping them into the crawl space in the wall.

"Cardea," the children moaned, but she shushed them quickly. She then shoved open the window, hoping that when the attackers broke through they would assume the children had already escaped through it. As soon as she had forced it open, the door gave way. Cardea whipped around, only to catch a blow to the jaw that threw her to the floor.

"Where are the children?" demanded a gruff voice from above. His tone might have been harsh, but his Latin was perfect. The two men standing before her were not barbarian savages after all, but part of a rival company of Romans.

"I will not give them to you," she answered in her native eastern tongue. She knew she needed to buy herself time. She had no idea what these men had done to the rest of the house, and in real life, Sarmatian knights did not appear out of thin air whenever there was trouble. The Romans indeed seemed confused by the unfamiliar language, and Cardea took the opportunity to flee through the open window. She was halfway through when she felt a tug on the hem of her robe. The light fabric tore easily; she was free. Stumbling from the house and climbing the adjacent hill to gain a vantage point, she took in the total damage to the house. There was little structural damage, but she had no way of knowing what havoc the soldiers had wreaked within. She would have felt uneasy leaving the children alone in the cupboard, but from her perch, she could see a group of her master's friends and comrades riding toward the estate. They were sure to find the children in the nursery and care for them as was fit.

With nothing tying her to the house below, she struck off into the woods in search of that which was most valuable to her, the one thing she had pined over these last five years.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I only own Cardea and any original plot details. Nothing else.

A trek through the woods had seemed like quite a good idea several hours before. Now, however, Cardea was beginning to realize that she had no food, no money, and no place to go. _'A fine predicament I've gotten myself into,'_ she thought wryly to herself. Determined, she trudged on. However, without quite knowing how it had happened, she soon found herself ensnarled in a patch of thorny vines. The vines occupied her attention so effectively that she did not know to step over the tree root in front of her. She landed with a thud on her side, jerking her shoulder painfully. Unbidden, a loud cry escaped her lips. Immediately, she sensed movement just beyond her range of visibility. She was so afraid that the Romans had found her that she couldn't get up. She merely scooted back to a tree trunk behind her, grasping her throbbing arm to her side. "Is someone there?" she hardly realized that she had spoken this aloud, but when she came face-to-face with a flashing blade, the reality of the situation became inescapably clear. The blade quivered with the energy of its wielder, poised in a lethal stance at Cardea's throat. She could not bring herself to look at her attacker, but she could hardly help looking at the blade. It was carved with ornate markings, and her stomach lurched as she recognized them as the work of a Sarmatian craftsman. Her head snapped up to face her assailant. "Sarmatian?" she asked in her own language. The swordsman looked genuinely startled, and he hastily removed his blade. He still had not spoken a word. "I – I thought," she stammered, unnerved by his persistent silence, "I thought that you were a Roman."

At that, the knight burst into laughter, an act that now confused Cardea even more. He looked up at her, "Lady," he said, "no Roman idiot could make as little noise as I was, especially with your spectacular fall over there," he pointed to the protruding root. Cardea felt herself flush.

"Please, sir knight, I have just escaped from a Roman household where I have been a servant for these last five years. The house was attacked by Roman soldiers. Please, I've no food or money, and my shoulder was hurt in the fall." Cardea hated sounded so weak, but she was in no position to be proud. This man was her countryman, a brother; if anyone would help her, it would be this Sarmatian knight.

"Romans fighting Romans," she heard him mutter under his breath, then he turned to her, "You've been in a Roman house for five years. You speak our language well enough, but are you still truly a Sarmatian?"

"I don't know how I would prove that to you," she replied honestly.

"All in due time," he answered, then, "What is your name?"

"It's Cardea, sir knight."

"A Roman goddess?" he spluttered, "Surely that is not your name."

"It used to be Ava, sir," she murmured, embarrassed that her Roman name had come first to her lips.

"Much better," he said in response to the name. He knelt down next to her and placed his hands on her shoulder, "You are lucky. It isn't dislocated. It might take a few days to heal, but if you stretch it as far as is comfortable every morning and evening, it should be fine."

"Thank you," she whispered with her head lowered.

"You've no food or money, you said? Come back to the fort at Hadrian's Wall. We'll find you a job there. Come," he coaxed her. She dutifully followed him to where his horse was tethered not far away. As they were mounting, she realized how rude she was being to her savior.

"Sir knight, I have not asked you your name."

He answered without hesitation, "My name is Tristan."

The ride to the wall would take them the better part of the day, Tristan had told her. She'd been expecting him to make camp for the night, but she knew she'd get no time to rest, as the dawn greeted them shortly after they'd begun their journey. Cardea had ridden horses in her youth, as was typical for all Sarmatian children, but the years since then made her unsure and quite uneasy atop Tristan's steed. She was glad for the knight's taciturn character. He did not, at least verbally, question her competence, and she was loath to admit how the Roman lifestyle had weakened the ancestral ability of horsemanship in her.

_Ava laughed as she raced through the fields atop her young mare, Narania. She was losing terribly to her best friend, the boy who had been her rescuer two years ago at the stream. She slowed as she noticed a group of riders off in the distance. They were approaching the village, which startled Ava because the horsemen of the village were not usually out at that time of day. _

_"Lancelot!" she called out to her friend in the distance._

"_Are you giving up?" he teased, "I told you I wouldn't go easy on you just because you're a girl."_

_"Look," she merely replied, pointing to the nearing group. He looked around, and the color drained from his face._

_"We'd better get back to the village," he said quietly._

_"What is it?" she worried, but he had already kicked his horse into gallop. When they reached the village, he halted his mount. Ava dismounted, but her friend showed no signs of following. "Lancelot," she began._

_"Ava, just go home," he cut her off sharply. She took a step toward him but he jerked away, "Please," he begged, and she heard the threat of tears in his voice._

_"Shall we race again tomorrow?" she asked her friend hopefully._

_"Sure," he turned his back on her, "tomorrow." He rode away from her, no doubt to get a better look at the group of riders that was fast approaching._

_Although she was rather angry with Lancelot, Ava did go home, but she did not stay there long. When she told her mother what had happened, she heaved a sad sigh. "The day is today, then. You will not see Lancelot again for fifteen years, little one. Go say good-bye to him." At the news, Ava's heart skipped a beat. There was surely a mistake. Lancelot was just fourteen years old. It could not be time for him to leave already. She stopped by her room and took a small carving he had made for her some years ago. Not wishing to miss his departure, she ran through the village to Lancelot's home. The riders were there, waiting for the addition to their small band. Lancelot's father was talking to him, though she caught only the words, "legend, knights, and horses"._

"_Lancelot!" she cried, fearing he would leave too soon, "Lancelot!" She reached up and handed him the carving, then backed away toward his father, who put his arm around her. "Lancelot," she said again. He looked at the carving and, recognizing it, gave her a small smile._

_Glancing at both of his parents, he said, "Don't be afraid. I will return." Then he promptly turned and rode up to the Roman soldier who led the group of Sarmatian boys. "How long shall we be gone?" he asked quietly._

"_Fifteen years," the soldier answered pitilessly, "not including the months it'll take you to get to your post."_

_Ava felt Lancelot's father's hand tighten on her shoulder, "Lancelot," he yelled, and the boy glanced back, "Rus!"_

_Ava, along with Lancelot's mother, sister, and brother, joined in the cry, "Rus!"_

_He looked back at them in longing but then turned and rode away._

Along the way, Cardea must have dozed, for the wall loomed impossibly tall when she glanced up. She had not noticed how close they were. Her stomach churned at the thought of beginning her life all over again within the fort. She was weak with hunger and exhaustion, but her relief at their arrival was diminished in the rush of unanswered questions assaulting her psyche. Where would she live? What sort of job would Tristan find for her? Would she be a servant to another Roman family, or perhaps to the knights themselves? Her skills were limited to such domestic tasks as cooking, cleaning, mending clothes, and healing small injuries. '_What service could I be to the great Arthur and his Sarmatian knights?'_ she thought hopelessly as they rode through the open gates. The stable hand looked at her strangely. At first, she wondered why, but then she realized that anyone would look at her strangely: a small eastern woman in a tattered Roman-style robe, riding on the steed of a famed Sarmatian knight.

"Jols," Tristan addressed the stable hand quietly, "Where is Arthur?"

"I believe he's at the table, sir," he answered, taking the reins from Tristan. With all the grace of a bird in flight, Tristan swung down from the horse to the ground. He reached up, took Cardea under her arms, and guided her down to stand beside him.

"You will meet with Arthur," he told her, "after that you may meet the rest of the knights."

"Am I to stay with your company, then?" Cardea received no answer as she trotted to keep up with his long strides. She was indeed relieved that she would not be sentenced to another eternity serving a Roman family. The knights might have need of her household skills, she decided, and hope lifted her spirits as she followed Tristan into a large chamber. The room was dominated by its single piece of furniture: a majestic but oddly circular table. A lone figure sat behind it, poring over letters and maps and making small notes on many of them.

"Arthur," Tristan uttered only his commander's name.

"Tristan, you're back already," the Roman replied without looking up, "Have you anything to report?"

"Yes," he smirked, "She's standing next to me." At this, Arthur looked up sharply. His bright blue eyes surveyed the woman standing before him.

"Your name, my lady?" he asked of her.

"It is Ava," Tristan answered before she had the chance. Submissively, she bowed her head while Tristan explained her situation. From another's lips, her story sounded like that of a tale she would have told her Roman charges. _'Perhaps these knights really do appear at the first sign of trouble,'_ she thought skeptically. She certainly wouldn't have lasted long if Tristan had not found her, though she might have chosen a different position in which they would engage in their first meeting. At this thought, she rubbed her neck and sore shoulder.

"Are you hurt, Ava?" Arthur had noticed her discomfort at once.

"Not terribly, sir," she hastened to reply, "I am only hungry and weary from the trip."

Arthur nodded vaguely, "Of course. Tristan, see to it that this woman is fed a good meal at the tavern. There are several extra rooms available here," he addressed her directly, "You may have your pick of any of them."

"Oh, but sir," Ava stopped, blushing, "I have no money either. I cannot pay for a meal or a room."

Arthur smiled kindly. "You are Tristan's sister, are you not? Your name and accent tell me that much. If you are his sister, you are then my sister. I would not require any sister of mine to pay for such necessary commodities."

"I must insist, sir, that I do something in return for such kindness. I assure you, I am not useless. I can cook and clean well. I can also mend clothing –"

"If it will put you at ease, little sister, you may serve us as a housekeeper of sorts. Tristan will tell you that some of his brothers are filthier than the pigs the villagers keep. Is that right, Tristan?" he laughed.

Tristan merely grimaced. Ava could not tell if he was recalling the messiness of his fellow knights, or if the grimace was simply his usual expression. "Come," he ordered simply, and she followed, "The knights are likely gathered in the tavern now. You can eat your fill and acquaint yourself with them as well." Ava's stomach growled in want of a decent meal, but her heart beat rapidly at the thought of meeting the knights of her stories.

The tavern radiated warmth and merriment. Ava's mouth watered as the smell of roasting meat reached her. Tristan led her to the counter, behind which stood a pregnant barmaid. "Vanora, Arthur's hired us a housekeeper," Tristan told the woman, "See she is fed well." He ventured out into the midst of the festivity in search of his comrades. The woman smiled warmly at Ava.

"Don't worry, lass. I'll take care of you."

"Thank you, Vanora," was all Ava could murmur at the moment. She felt rather nauseous, despite her hunger, and was afraid she would empty the meager contents of her stomach right there if she spoke too much. To calm her excited nerves, she glanced around the tavern to observe its patrons. She noticed Tristan standing at a center table, around which sat several knights, along with many giggling girls. Just as she looked at the men, their eyes all followed Tristan's gesture to where she sat. To her dismay, as well as to that of the girls, three of them rose and approached her.

"Why don't you come sit with us, little sparrow?" one knight coyly asked.

"Stop it, Gawain. You'll scare the poor girl away," another countered.

"You're just jealous, Galahad, because I've been stealing away the attention of those lovely ladies over there," Gawain gestured to the table.

"Excuse me Gawain," the third knight spoke, "Who has been stealing their attention?"

Vanora placed a steaming plate in front of Ava. "This girl's been dragged halfway across the country today, and you ask her to get up? Have the courtesy to leave your wenches and sit here with her!" Ava, who was feeling rather overwhelmed, merely dug into her food. Never had she tasted a meal so delicious.

"You're right, Vanora," the third knight agreed, "Besides," he smirked, "I was getting tired of those girls anyway."

"You, Lancelot? Tired of a girl?" Gawain joked.

"Or is it just that this one's much prettier?" Galahad laughed.

At the mention of the knight's name, Ava had frozen. Her eyes fixed on the wooden carving hanging from his neck. "That – that carving," she stammered; immediately the knights sobered, seeing how disturbed she was, "Your name is Lancelot?" she looked up at him, hardly daring to believe she could be looking at her friend after eight long years.

"Yes," he answered hesitantly, "Do you know me?"

"I –" she did not know what to say, "Where did you get it?"

His eyes clouded, "It was given to me by a friend long ago." He seemed not to trust her for inquiring about his past. He stared at her uncomfortably, as if waiting for an explanation, but she could not bring herself to speak.

"Well, then, lady," Galahad broke the tension uneasily, "What do they call you?"

Her eyes not leaving Lancelot's, she answered, "My name is Ava." Lancelot's dark eyes widened in shock. His mouth moved as if to form words, but, unable to speak, he merely staggered back from where Ava sat, and without a word, left the tavern.

Galahad scoffed incredulously at his friend's strange behavior, "What did you do to the poor man?" he asked Ava.

"Nothing," she breathed, stunned by her friend's reaction, "I did nothing."

"I'll go speak with him," Gawain said resolutely. He rose and followed Lancelot's path out the door. Ava turned to Galahad nervously.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, "I don't know what –" she broke off, not wishing to cry in front of a man she'd known for minutes. She resigned herself to finishing the food that was before her, but she found that her appetite had vanished. She fidgeted for several minutes, toying with her meal. Eventually, she could not keep herself from looking over her shoulder at the door.

"You should go to him," Galahad's voice startled her. She glanced to her right to see that he had observed her struggle. With little hesitation, she too exited the tavern.

The night air was cool in comparison to the tavern's atmosphere, and she shivered slightly, hugging her arms around her body. She could hear voices coming from the stables, and as she neared them, she recognized them as those of Gawain and Lancelot.

"Lancelot, what's wrong with you?" Gawain was saying, "You nearly made that poor girl cry." There followed a pause in which Ava assumed Lancelot was unable to produce a response. "Who is she? An old sweetheart? A wench you failed to pay, perhaps," he'd decided the second guess was more plausible.

"She's no whore!" Lancelot retaliated, "She – we were friends," he faltered, "before I left home."

"Is that all? Then why are you acting like you've seen a bloody ghost?" Gawain joked, "Most of us only dream of meeting those we knew before this nightmare."

"She would not like the man I have become. She –" he broke off, frustrated that he was at a loss for words.

"You, Lancelot, the self-proclaimed womanizer, you are ashamed of what a woman will think of you? You must really like her, then," he paused, but then added the jibe, "I can see why. She is quite beautiful." Ava drew quickly back into the shadows as Gawain was thrown from the stables into the alley. Unfazed, he wandered back to the tavern, but not before calling back to Lancelot, "You'll never know what she thinks of you if you avoid her. Perhaps your wonderful charm and good looks will serve you just as well this time as any other," he chuckled to himself and shook his head as he turned his back on the stables.

Slowly, Ava crept to the entrance of the stables. Lancelot faced away from her. He was tending to his steed, muttering under his breath. She cleared her throat softly, and Lancelot spun around, drawing his blade as he did so, moving with the same fatal exactness that Tristan had. His reaction to the sight of her was much the same as Tristan's had been in the woods.

"I-I'm sorry I startled you," Ava hastily apologized, "I just – You left so quickly, and I thought I should…I didn't know you were one of Arthur's knights," the words spilled out unbidden. She thought of all the stories she had heard, how the famous warriors had claimed victory so many times in the face of certain death. She had never known the names of the knights, merely of their prowess in battle. If she had known one of them was her Lancelot…

"How did you get here?" he asked her.

"Excuse me?"

"The last time I saw you, you were back at home," he explained, "How did you end up here on this miserable island?"

"The last time you saw me was eight years ago," she answered stonily, "A lot has changed since then," she sighed as she sat down on a bale of hay.

"I can see that," he stormily replied, gesturing to her Roman dress. Ava blushed slightly, but then continued.

"I remained at the village for three years after you left, but that year, a Roman company came upon us. They killed many," she took a shaky breath, "They killed my father," she sensed Lancelot draw slightly nearer, "One man took me prisoner when I tried to fight back. They brought me with them to their fort, and I was afraid I'd end up serving the man for the rest of my life, but he lost in a game of cards that night, and I was transferred to another. This new Roman took me back to his estate in Britain, where I was a helper to his wife and, later, the keeper of his two children for five years. Last night, I escaped after an attack on the household by some rivals of my master. Tristan found me in the woods and brought me here." She looked up to find that Lancelot was much closer now. He was kneeling in front of her, peering at her with soulful eyes.

"I wish I'd been there to protect you," he murmured, "Did they treat you poorly, those Romans?"

"No, Lancelot," she took his hand, "They were kind, but when I was with them, I thought I would die a servant, and that scared me more than anything," seeing that he was still troubled, she said, "There is nothing you could have done. What happened then cannot be changed now. Don't worry over it."

"To think that we have both been slaves for so long," he laughed bitterly, rising and pacing like a caged animal.

"I am a slave no longer," Ava said quietly, hoping to convey her sympathy for the knight.

"Of that I am grateful," he replied, "It is late; you should sleep. Where are you staying?"

"Arthur has offered me any vacant room in the barracks," she stood.

He glanced at her quickly, and then looked away. "Vanora will show you the rooms," he still refused to look at her.

"You will not escort me, sir knight?" she smiled.

"It is better that the woman shows you, little one," he answered cryptically.

"Good night, then," she said, somewhat put off. Disappointed, she left in search of the barmaid. Once she had settled down in a comfortably snug room, she went over her conversation with Lancelot. He had seemed so empathetic one moment, and then strangely distant the next. She longed to solve the mystery of his temperament, but exhaustion soon took her.

* * *

I hope you liked these first two chapters. This is my first (published) fanfic, so I'd love some feed back. In other words, read and review. Thanks! 


	3. Chapter 3

Ava opened her eyes to an unfamiliar room. She sat up quickly, disoriented. The sudden movement caused her head to spin, and she had to lie back down. She struggled to recall what had happened to her the day before. Her stomach lurched when the face of the grown man that was Lancelot appeared before her closed eyes. How strange it had been to find out that this knight, this intensely powerful warrior, was the same friend she had lost so long ago. She'd never pictured him with a beard…

Unannounced, Vanora burst into the room, causing Ava to squawk and jump out of bed. The young barmaid was chattering incessantly. "…thought I'd wake you, lass. Didn't want you to sleep too late or you'd be sorry when you ended up nocturnal! I brought you some clothes that haven't fit me since Gilly arrived," she gestured to the basket in her arms, "You're such a little skinny thing, I was afraid I'd have nothing for you to wear! Just try them on and we'll take them in if you need it."

"Who's Gilly?" Ava yawned, stretching.

"My son, the first one, anyway," Vanora answered, "He's the only one with a proper name. The others we just call Two and Three, and Four's on the way," she patted her swollen belly, "I told Bors they ought to have real names like real people, but he just said, 'I named myself when my parents didn't bother to, and look how I turned out…' Well, I say, these children have two parents who love them and they deserve proper names – Are you looking for something, lass?"

Ava had been searching around the room for a place to wash her face. "Is there a washbasin here?" she queried.

Vanora smiled. "You'll find few of those here, lass. We don't exactly live in the lap of luxury around here," she chuckled, "if you couldn't tell already, but there's a stream not far from here. It's where we do our laundry. You can wash up there if you like."

"Thank you," Ava muttered, and she escaped the chatty, though well intentioned, woman. The sun hung almost directly overhead when she stepped outside. As she attempted to follow Vanora's vague directions, she relished the freedom of walking through the fort unaccompanied. She had not felt such freedom in years. The residents of the fort were all engaged in their midday activities. When Ava reached the stream, she was not surprised to see that many women were scrubbing their laundry at the water's edge.

She kneeled and cupped her hands below the surface. It was heaven to splash the cool water over her face and arms. She brought some to the back of her neck and scrubbed. _'I don't know if I'll ever feel clean again,'_ she thought sadly. The full day she had spent in the woods and riding to the wall had left a layer of grime she felt constantly no matter how many times she splashed the stream water on herself. She also noticed several scratches that needed attention, particularly a nasty one on her arm.

"Assessing the damage?" she heard a voice call from behind her. She looked over her shoulder and saw Galahad approaching, holding a piece of fruit and a small cake of bread. "I thought you'd be hungry," he said as he handed her the meal. Then, seeing her puzzled expression, he added, "Vanora told me where you were."

Ava took a hesitant bite. "Thank you," she said shyly.

Galahad sat down next to her, "I figure you need someone to pamper you. You're in a strange place; you don't know anyone –"

"Except Lancelot," Ava reminded him.

"Except Lancelot," he agreed, "but it's not really the same, is it? I mean, he's not the same."

"No, he's not," Ava bowed her head, "Not that I'd expect him to be. All that he – all of you – goes through. It can't be easy."

"Well," Galahad smiled slightly, "someone has to do it."

Ava giggled. "Is that really how you see it? It's just something to be done. There's no honor or pride in it at all? Not even righteousness?"

"You're right. Arthur would have my head to hear me talk right now," he sighed and shrugged his shoulders, "The way I see it, there's not much honor in it when you're not fighting for your own cause. This is Rome's fight, not mine. I don't much like the idea that we kill men who are just defending their country," he glanced over at her, "They're doing what our forefathers did centuries ago."

Ava thought of how her forefathers' actions were still affecting her brothers. "Look at what happened to them," she murmured sadly, "and their sons."

Galahad looked at her sharply. "You don't dance around touchy subjects, do you?"

"You'll find that I'm pretty direct," she countered.

"So I have found, Miss Ava," he grinned, rising only to bow to her, "but, sadly, I must leave you. Good day."

Ava laughed. "Good day, Sir Galahad."

Smiling at his retreating form, Ava could not help but think that she had found a friend at the fort after all. This one, she was sure, would not speak in riddles and leave her feeling hurt, confused, and alone.

Sweat trickled down her back and ran into her eyes as she scrubbed the previous night's dishes behind the tavern's kitchen. She had sought out a job to do as soon as she had finished the meal Galahad had provided for her. She was grateful that the inhabitants of the fort had allowed her to sleep so late, but it was now the hottest part of the day; it was the least convenient hour to be working out of doors. However, Ava could not tolerate her own sloth much longer. She had been used to working hard most of her life, and she refused to sit idle when there was work that needed to be done. She raised an arm to wipe the sweat from her forehead, and as she did so, she noticed two knights at the other end of the courtyard practicing their swordplay. Though she had little knowledge of such arts, Ava could tell that they were very skilled. The knights were both redheaded, though one was obviously older than the other was. As their match grew more heated, their voices rose. She was able to listen to what they were saying as she worked.

"You've been practicing, little brother," the older one said, "You may surpass me yet."

"Stop bluffing, Lamorak," the younger replied, "I can hear you panting like the old man that you are. Admit that you can no longer keep up with me."

"I would like to satisfy your request, brother, but I have taken a vow of truth. I cannot lie, for I will break the vow."

At that, the younger brother made a swift attack and caught the older man in the ribs with his wooden sword. He proceeded to tackle his brother, pinning him to the dusty ground. "Say it!" he ordered.

"Never," Lamorak replied.

"I won't let you up until you say it," the younger knight struggled to keep his brother pinned to the ground.

"Alright," Lamorak panted, then raised his voice so the entire courtyard could hear, "I, Lamorak, have been beaten in battle by my brother –"

"_Younger_ brother," the knight corrected.

"– by my younger brother Percival," he finished.

"Yes, that's right," Percival cried, finally releasing his brother, "I have beaten you. And mother said I'd never be as good a fighter as you."

"She was right," Lamorak growled, ruffling his brother's hair, "You're _not_ the better fighter."

"I beat you, didn't I?" Percival countered.

"Yes Perce, you beat me once. Compare that to the hundreds of times I've beaten you," he turned and strode out of the courtyard.

"It hasn't been hundreds!" Percival ran after him, "Lamorak!" Ava chuckled. Such eccentric characters, these knights were. She hauled the last load of clean dishes back to the tavern. Exhausted, she took a seat at one of the tables. The tavern was weirdly empty during the day. The staff was busy in back getting ready for the nighttime rush, but in the main room, Ava was separated from that flurry of activity. She had not seen Lancelot since the night before, and she longed to atone for any wrong she had committed against him.

"There you are, lass!" Vanora had spotted her as she was passing by, "I wondered where you'd got to. Just look at you! I'll bet Arthur's put you to work, eh?"

"No, actually, he didn't want me to do any work when I got here, but I insisted."

"You are a strange girl to be _looking_ for work," Vanora smiled.

Ava shrugged. "It's all I know," she replied mildly.

"I suppose it's better than being like those tramps that hang around here every night," she frowned, "But look at me, to be talking in such a way," she remembered her pregnant belly, "You're a good lass, Ava. We're all glad to have you here."

"Well," Ava stammered, flattered, "I'm glad to be h-"

She was cut off by Vanora's sudden gesture for silence. From the wall's gate, a bell was tolling slowly. The sound sent goose bumps up and down Ava's arms. "Come with me, lass," Vanora ordered gravely, taking Ava by the hand. She led her out of the tavern and into the knights' barracks. Her face held such a strained expression, like Juliana's had been the night Ava had escaped, that she could not help but question the older woman.

"What does that bell mean?" she asked softly.

Vanora gave no answer, but stopped before the first knight she came upon. "Dagonet," she cried, "What news?"

The knight bowed his head. "It's Kay," Ava saw Vanora breathe a tiny sigh of relief, "He was out riding and was attacked by Woads. He is badly wounded," Dagonet paused, "He might not survive the night."

"Where is he?" Vanora asked, and Dagonet motioned for them to follow. "Was there anyone with him?" the barmaid continued. At the thought that Kay might not have been the only victim, Ava's stomach lurched.

"No," was Dagonet's short reply.

Vanora turned to Ava. "Can you heal, lass?"

"I – I have tended minor wounds only," she answered nervously.

Vanora glanced at Dagonet. "It will have to do," she said, seemingly to herself. They entered a chamber, and Ava saw a figure lying on the narrow bed. Arthur was standing in the corner, his face drawn.

"Dagonet," he said, "can you help him?"

"We'll do what we can," the knight replied with grave composure.

Hours later, Ava had been sent out of the room to retrieve more water. She sensed that once she had brought it to the healers, they would not ask her to stay. Tears were already leaking from her eyes as she ran to the well. Her composure was quickly dissolving. By the time she had reached the well in the courtyard, she was sobbing. She fought to collect herself; she was useless to Kay like this.

Across the courtyard, she saw Lancelot break away from a group of women out of the corner of her eye. The women all glared at her with narrowed eyes, but Lancelot hurried toward her. Blinded by her tears, she fumbled with the rope and the bucket splashed back to the bottom. Frustrated, she groaned and began again.

"Ava," he said as he reached her.

"I need to get more water," she said by way of explanation.

"I can see that," Lancelot raised the bucket and tipped it into the bowl Ava carried, "but why are you crying? The well can't be giving you too much trouble."

She looked up at him. "Do you not know? Kay's been wounded. H-he –"

"Kay's hurt? How bad is it?" Lancelot seized the bowl of water, but he did not know where to take it, "Where is he? When did it happen?"

"It happened this afternoon," Ava answered, "Did you not hear the bell?"

"I was –" he colored slightly and his eyes involuntarily darted toward the group of women he had just left.

"You don't need to finish that sentence," Ava muttered, disgusted. She took the bowl back, spilling some water in the process, and turned to flee. Lancelot took her arm to stop her. "Let go," she ordered.

"Ava, I –"

"He will die, Lancelot," she blurted, and tears flowed anew, "The least you can do is let me help ease his passing."

The knight wore a broken expression; he released her arm from his grip. She made her way back to the sickroom, but as she had predicted, Vanora would not allow her to stay. The look in the woman's eyes told Ava that she feared how much she could see before it would do lasting damage. Unsure where to go and feeling wretched from her run-in with Lancelot, she retired to her own room and wept.

She could not tell how long she had been crying when she became aware of a knocking on her door. She rose to open it and came face-to-face with Galahad's unusually pale countenance. She stepped aside, allowing him to enter, but the young knight did not move.

"Galahad," Ava said fearfully, "why are you here?"

Galahad's eyes shone, "Kay," he murmured, "is dead."

Ava simply nodded. She looked up to attempt to console her friend, but all she found herself capable of was nodding mournfully. Galahad had given up his struggle to suppress his tears, and his quiet grief tugged at Ava's heart. Soon she, too, was sobbing softly.

"You would have liked him," Galahad told her, "He was a good man and a great warrior." He chuckled, "He always knew how to make us laugh."

"I'm sorry I never got the chance to get to know him," Ava sighed. She sat down on her bed, and Galahad lingered just inside the doorway. "You can sit," she indicated the mattress.

"No, I must go see Arthur and the other knights," he said distractedly, "You should try to sleep, though. You look tired."

"I am," she answered truthfully, though not quite wishing to be left alone.

"I take my leave, then," Galahad said formally.

She stood suddenly, "Galahad," she called out softly. He turned quickly back toward her with questioning eyes. She flushed, without quite knowing why, under his attentive gaze. "You are the only true friend I have here, and being a knight – well, it's dangerous. So don't –" she shook her head slightly, commanding her thoughts into order, "Just be careful," she implored.

"Ava, I –" he broke off, looking stunned. Carefully, he took her arm, just above the elbow, and drew her closer. He slowly bent his face closer to hers, and she felt his breath, still slightly irregular from crying, stir her hair gently. She put a hand to his face and brought her lips to his. He returned the kiss, pulling her closer, and she responded by circling her arms around his neck. His lips were firm but gentle against her own, and she felt fresh tears begin to form at the absolute rightness of it. He pulled away first, only to draw her completely into his arms. "I've wanted to do that since the night you got here," he said. He kissed the top of her head softly, and then let her go, "Sleep well," he whispered with a smile and left. Ava merely stood stunned, unable to believe she had really taken part in the scene. It felt as though it could only have happened to someone else, and she had simply witnessed it from another's point of view. Regardless, the memory of Galahad's kiss made her feel deliciously happy, and she fell asleep that night with a smile on her face.


	4. Chapter 4

The following morning, she shared breakfast with the knights. The party was a somber one, but all through the meal, she felt two pairs of eyes trained on her. Lancelot silently begged for forgiveness, and Galahad could not keep from sending small smiles her way. Ava was concentrating so steadfastly on her food that she did not hear a large part of Arthur's speech. The part she did catch made her want to stop listening altogether.

"…attend the burial at noon today. We will need to make the preparations quickly to be ready by then, but I feel it necessary to make haste. I have received several reports of Woad activity nearby. We will be vulnerable during the burial; I wish to prevent any harm that may befall us." Arthur was clearly suffering. He felt that his friend would not be honored properly if they rushed through the burial, but the threat of attack weighed heavily upon him. Ava sensed that the rest of the group understood the necessity for such untraditional actions; they would proceed according to Arthur's plan without resistance.

Before she knew it, Ava found herself outside the comforting protection of the fort's walls. She did not miss the knights' eyes constantly darting toward her. They were undoubtedly reluctant to have her out in the open; she noted that Lancelot and Galahad hovered particularly close throughout the ceremony. As Ava listened to the other knights' accounts of their fallen brother, she wondered, somewhat morbidly, who would be the next one they would all gather around. She had not known Kay, yet she still felt the pain of his absence. What would she be feeling now if she had been close to Kay, as the other knights had?

"Arthur!" Tristan's yell rang out across the landscape as several arrows struck the ground just out of reach of their party. The knights sprang into action, drawing their various weapons and preparing to defend themselves against the onslaught of Woads. With feral agility, the blue-skinned warriors charged toward them out of the woods.

"Retreat!" Arthur ordered. Some of the knights hesitated, but Arthur continued, "Leave the body! Leave Kay! Go!" he commanded them. Ava, frightened and disoriented, fought to get her bearings amidst the fray. A large, brutish warrior ran toward her, screaming incomprehensible war cries. She froze, her heart beating so rapidly that she began to feel dizzy. She had no means of defense – none. How could she have made herself so vulnerable? The warrior was raising his sword. He was going to kill her. She would die like Kay. Would the knights mourn her as they had him?

Lancelot darted in front of her just as the unfriendly blade descended. The clang of metal startled her to her senses. "Galahad!" Lancelot called as he struggled against the warrior. Galahad seemed to appear out of nowhere. "Get her out of here," he told Galahad.

The younger knight took Ava by the arm as Lancelot swiftly slew the Woad, "Ava, come on," Galahad urged. She did not need to be told twice. She and Galahad darted through the throng, and he warded off any blows that threatened them. The wall was in sight when an arrow caught her in the shoulder. The pain was white-hot as its tip cut through her. She cried out and nearly stumbled but continued running. It was only once they'd reached the inside of the fort that she allowed herself to slow her pace. She leaned against Galahad, her breathing irregular.

"Galahad," she shuddered, fighting to stay upright. His strong arms supported her and they slowly made their way to the barracks. Time seemed to speed up and slow down of its own accord. She did not know when he had brought her to her bed, or when Vanora had entered. She could not tell whose hand she held when they extracted the arrow, and she did not know how much time had passed when she groggily opened her eyes again.

It was much darker than it had been when she and Galahad had retreated to the fort. A single candle burned at the far side of the room, where Vanora and Lancelot conversed softly. Too exhausted to raise herself up, Ava watched them from where she lay. Vanora seemed to be chiding Lancelot cheerfully, but the knight was not listening. His face was pale and drawn, yet he watched Ava with tender concern. Vanora left, muttering to herself, and Lancelot approached her. As he drew nearer, he realized she was awake. He smiled softly and knelt down beside her.

"How are you?" he murmured warmly.

"I can't really feel anything yet," she replied, after taking stock of the damage.

He smirked, "That will change quickly, little one."

"What were you and Vanora talking about?" she asked quietly.

"She was telling me not to be so worried, that she's patched up injuries much worse than yours, and that I should have an intimate knowledge of that fact." She chuckled, and he drew slightly nearer to her bedside. The wooden carving slipped from his tunic and dangled between them. Ava reached up and fingered the carving.

"Thank you for saving my life," she whispered.

"I didn't; Galahad did."

"No," she shook her head slightly, "It was you who stopped that blade."

"I didn't stop the arrow, though," he turned away from her.

She reached for his hand, "If you hadn't stopped the blade, there would have been little sense in protecting me from that arrow," she attempted to convey the gravity of the situation with this euphemism. He put a hand to her face and pushed away the strands of hair that had fallen across it.

"Ava, you could have died."

"But I didn't," she smiled softly, "thanks to you." The knight merely bowed his head and clutched her hands in his. "Lancelot," she murmured soothingly, "why are you so different with me now than you were the night I arrived here?"

He looked up, "What?"

"That night, you would barely look at me, and now…" she trailed off, not sure what to say.

"I was afraid that you would not like the man I have become," he said hesitantly.

"And what sort of man is that? A man who protects helpless young women against attackers?" she smiled.

"The way you looked at me when Kay was – when you were at the well," he lowered his head again, "that is what I was afraid of that night, and that's what happened, wasn't it?

"Lancelot, since we were children we have been friends. It will take a lot more than a few wenches in your bed to change that. Now, I'm not saying that I approve of such activities –"

"Ava, don't turn this into a sermon. You'll sound just like Arthur," Lancelot joined Ava in laughter.

"I suppose you deserve any diversion you can find from the battlefield," Ava mused.

"Now that you're here," Lancelot leaned in toward her, "I shall try to be more respectful."

"Thank you," she replied, slightly surprised.

"I'll cut it down to one girl a night," he teased.

Ava yelled, "You pig-headed man!" and attempted to hit him with her pillow, but sharp pain stabbed across her back and shoulder, and she clutched her wound tightly. Lancelot was instantly attentive. "That was stupid," she gasped through the pain.

"You'll just have to wait until it heals, I suppose," Lancelot still joked, even while holding her comfortingly in his arms.

"Stop talking," she moaned. He merely chuckled and rocked her slightly back and forth. At the quiet creak of the door, both looked around suddenly. A very flustered Galahad stood uncomfortably in the entrance.

"I was just coming to check on you, Ava," he stated, somewhat unnecessarily.

Ava smiled at Galahad through the dull throb of her shoulder, while Lancelot awkwardly extricated himself from the bed. "Here is my other savior," she greeted him sweetly, and he sat near the foot of the bed.

"Can I get you anything? Another blanket? Something to eat?" he smirked, and added, "Some ale?"

Ava chuckled, "A rest from this aching shoulder would be nice, but I do not want to risk worsening the headache I already have with drink."

"I should let you sleep, then," he said hastily.

"No," she answered quickly, "I would love it if you would stay here for a while."

At this Galahad grinned quite boyishly, "It would be my pleasure, my lady," he bowed as low as he could in his sitting position. Lancelot, still present in the corner of the room, cleared his throat softly.

"Good night, Ava," he murmured. To his comrade, he nodded, "Galahad."

"Good night, brother," Galahad replied formally. Lancelot's retreat was swift, and as soon as he had left, Ava turned to Galahad and told him, "Today was the worst day of my life."

He looked a little confused at such a blunt declaration. "It's no wonder," he replied finally, "You had the scare of your –"

"No, Galahad, not because of that," she corrected, "I mean, obviously, I don't enjoy being in life-threatening situations, but the worst part of today was that I couldn't do a thing to stop that Woad. I was helpless, and I hated it." She looked into Galahad's face, hoping that he, who seemed to understand her like no one else could, would not object to what she would say next. "Galahad, teach me to fight like you do. Teach me to ride a horse again. I want to know everything you know. Please, understand that I need this."

Galahad had pulled away from her in shock. His face bore a stormy expression, and he simply answered, "No."

"I know it's not traditional for a woman to learn such things, but –"

"No, Ava!" Galahad rose, "Absolutely not! It's ridiculous – You must never again be in the same situation as you were in today."

He continued to shake his head, as if she were frantically protesting his words. She wasn't, but she calmly replied, "Training with you and the other knights is the only way to keep me from being in that kind of danger."

"No, it would push you right into the thick of it!" Galahad yelled desperately.

Ava, too, now felt her emotions rising, causing her voice to rise as well, "I need this, Galahad! I am a woman, yes; but I was raised to be a strong and independent woman. Now I have no means of defending myself, except for the protection you and the other knights provide for me."

"Is that not enough?"

"You cannot be there to shelter me every time I run into trouble!" she rose from her bed and swayed on her feet, shaken by dizziness and the pain in her shoulder. Galahad made a move toward her, but she jerked away, refusing to accept his support until he allowed her to have some of her own. "Why won't you let me do this?" she pleaded in a quiet voice.

He breathed heavily from their argument. Still full of that passion, he strode across the room and kissed her. His powerful embrace stung her sore shoulder, and his kiss was one of desperation and dominance over her, so unlike the first he had given her. Whether from the pain she felt or his dynamic change in character, she whimpered against him, and he instantly released her. "You –" his voice broke, "you can't. I don't want to lose you."

"That is outside your control," she replied stonily, "I need to rest. Will you shut the door on your way out?"

He nodded humbly, and exited without a word.


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning, Ava entered the courtyard, determined to find Lancelot. Though she was shocked by Galahad's reaction to her request, she refused to abandon her need to defend herself. "Lancelot!" she called vehemently, "Lancelot!" She found the knight not far away, talking to Gawain.

"Good morning, Miss Ava," Gawain said jokingly when she reached them.

"Good morning, Gawain," she replied with a smile. Then, turning to Lancelot, she said, "I need to speak with you."

"Sure," he replied, urging her to continue.

She glanced at Gawain, "In private," she added. Lancelot looked toward his friend, and the knight held up his hands.

"Fine," he said, "I can tell when I'm not wanted. But Lancelot," he smirked, "think a bit before you take her back to your room, because Galahad will be out for your blood."

Lancelot glared after him, and Ava could only blush. Recovering, she posed her request, "Lancelot, can you teach me to fight like you and your comrades?"

Lancelot looked shocked, "What?"

"Please, Lancelot. I asked Galahad last night because I thought – well, I thought he would support me, and –"

"And he didn't?"

"No, he – he got angry, and –" she stopped.

"What, Ava? What did he do?"

"It's okay. He only kissed me, but," she shuddered, "it wasn't like a kiss is supposed to be. I don't understand why he would act that way. It wasn't like him at all."

"Ava," Lancelot frowned, "Come," he ordered abruptly.

"What?"

"Come with me," he took her hand. Ava's stomach lurched as she realized he actually was taking her to his room. Upon entering, she was surprised to find it neat and clean, instead of messy and unkempt as she would have expected. Lancelot sat her down on the bed, while he himself sat in a chair. "About Galahad," he began, "you have to understand that he hates it here. He can't understand why anyone would enjoy this life."

"Don't you all feel like that?" she asked with lowered eyes, again ashamed of the freedom she had that was still denied to her brothers.

"We all resent fighting for a cause that is not our own, as well as being taken from our homes, but –" he stopped, as if trying to find the words. "If I were not a soldier for Rome, I would still be a warrior. It's who I am; it's the only part of me that Rome does not control."

"But Galahad," Ava murmured, beginning to understand.

"If Galahad had never been taken by the Romans, if he were a free man, he would not fight."

"I cannot forgive him for the way he acted last night," Ava told him.

"It's not an excuse, no," Lancelot agreed, "but try to imagine that you are the only part of Galahad's life that he feels he can control. That will tell you why he acted the way he did."

The two sat in silence for some time, until Ava remembered why she had sought out Lancelot in the first place. "So," she grinned, "will you teach me?"

Lancelot grimaced, "I was hoping you'd forgotten about that." She glared at him until he sighed, "Very well, I'll teach you – we all will, but only for defensive purposes. I don't want you to get the idea that you can ride off into battle with us whenever you please."

"It's a deal," she extended her hand, and he shook it, carefully avoiding her injured shoulder.

"We'll start as soon as that shoulder heals," he stated with a grim expression. Ava could only smile.

The wait to begin training seemed long and unbearable to Ava, and she became increasingly anxious to start. However, it was far to short for Galahad and Lancelot, and both men tended to her with heightened attention. Galahad had been treating her with a tentative sort of affection since his outburst, as if at any time she would find him guilty of the crime she had not previously held him accountable for. Lancelot, her protector and confidante since childhood, often acted as a balm for her volatile moods.

Finally, Ava stood in the knights' practice yard holding a wooden sword. The knights, besides Percival, lined the fenced and were shouting bits of advice to aid her.

"Keep loose. Don't concentrate so hard. You won't react as quickly."

"Don't fight your instincts, use them. Trust them to guide you.'

"You're doing great, Ava. Don't over think it."

She tried to balance their comments with her focus on the match between her and Percival. So far, she had not beaten the smallest knight. Their battles always ended with a blow to her side or his sword at her throat, but this time she was determined to get the better of him. Percival lunged at her, and she ducked, catching him with her sword as she went. While he was off balance, before she had time to think about it, she gave the knight a quick shove, and he fell to the ground. She let out a small yell of triumph, and Percival rolled onto his back.

"Nice one," he grinned. She offered a hand to help him up, and the two rejoined the rest of the party, where Ava was greatly congratulated.

As autumn turned to winter, Ava's skills increased. She had beaten each knight at least once in combat, though with Tristan, she had indeed only managed one victory. With the onset of regular snowfall, her practices had been limited only to when the weather was gentle. With her combat skills much improved, Ava had taken to going for long rides just beyond the boundaries of the fort. Shortly after she had arrived at the Wall, Jols had presented her with a beautiful brown mare, which she had named Juliana. Some of the knights had scoffed at the name, but Ava did not want to forget the forces that had shaped her into the person she was. Juliana served as a reminder of both her ancestral background and her time as a Roman.

Upon her return from one such excursion, Ava came upon a group of foreign travelers in the entrance to the fort. Their carriage, though extravagant, was decidedly not Roman in style, and she wondered what kind of party would travel with such finery to a Roman fort if it was not Roman. She posed her question to Jols, who only shrugged in disinterest.

"So many people pass through here with such different purposes that I don't pay much attention to any of them," he said as they both tended to Juliana. After seeing the horse was properly taken care of for the night, Ava left the stables for the interior of the fort. Still curious about the foreign visitors, she chose a route that would lead her past the room containing Arthur's round table as she went to her room. The room's heavy doors were closed when she got there, and the only noise that escaped from within was a low rumble of multiple male voices. She leaned closer in hopes of catching some of the conversation. Hearing the pounding of footsteps approaching, she scrambled away just as the doors flew open. From her hiding place in the shadows, she saw Bors storm out of the room, followed closely by Dagonet. The two conversed somewhat heatedly, but she could not make out their words. Then, suddenly, Bors raised his voice in anger.

"It's not necessary, that's what I'm saying! Why should we have to travel halfway across the Empire to see some self-proclaimed king? So what if the son admires us? What about my son, eh Dag? Doesn't Gilly have the right to have me around?"

Dagonet's reply was soft, but Ava was able to hear some of it, "Arthur thinks…talented…one of us."

Bors took a deep breath, no doubt to yell some more, but he was cut off by Vanora, who scolded both knights for talking so loudly while Arthur was negotiating and led them away.

On her way back to her room, Ava contemplated what she'd overheard. It didn't make much sense to her, so she decided to get the rest of the story from the other knights as they left the table room. She sat on her bed to listen for them for what felt like hours. Soft footsteps and hushed voices filtered into her consciousness, and she jerked awake. Cursing herself for dozing off, she hurled herself out into the hallway, only to come face-to-face with Galahad, Lancelot, and Gawain.

"What's going on?" she demanded.

At her frenzied appearance and hurried inquiry, Gawain and Lancelot burst out laughing. Galahad chuckled lightly, but then answered her, "Arthur's just met with a German king. He wants us to come visit his court. Apparently, the king's son idolizes us, and Arthur wants to see if he would make a good knight."

Ava frowned, "Why would Arthur want to recruit yet another slave for Rome?"

The knights glanced at each other and shifted uncomfortably. She couldn't be sure, but they seemed to cluster slightly closer together as if to keep from being overheard. "He wouldn't be a knight for Rome, Ava," Lancelot muttered.

"What?" she asked with a puzzled expression. The knights again shuffled awkwardly.

"Think of what will happen to this place when the Romans leave," Gawain told her.

"When they leave?" Ava was baffled.

"They will not be able to keep control of this fort forever," Lancelot reasoned, "and when they leave, what do you think will happen to us? We've made many of Rome's enemies our enemies, and without the strength of Rome behind us, what is to keep the Woads from attacking here?"

"Arthur is trying to build an army to sustain us after the Romans are gone?" Ava gasped. All three knights gestured frantically for her to be silent.

"The Romans must not find out about this. They will not complain if we add a few to our numbers, as long as we keep fighting their battles for them," Galahad whispered.

"But as soon as they realize we're no longer training them to be loyal to Rome –"

"Because we're so loyal now," Gawain muttered.

"– They will see us as a threat," Lancelot finished.

At the thought that she was now an accomplice to the knights' conspiracy, Ava's stomach began to churn. However, she did feel a sort of pride that these famed warriors would trust her enough to inform her of their plot. She grinned slightly in the dark.

"Get plenty of rest," Lancelot warned, "We leave for the German court in two days."

"I'm coming?" she asked hopefully.

"Of course you are," Galahad answered her, "Arthur insisted upon it."

"You are, after all," Gawain waggled his eyebrows at her, "one of us now."

Ava's smile widened unbidden. She wished them all a good night, not before kissing Galahad lightly on the cheek. Suddenly giddy, she swung herself through the doorway of her room. After splashing water over her face and removing her hair from its plait, she snuggled up into her pillow. It had been many years since she'd felt so included, so accepted. Peaceful sleep claimed her quickly as thoughts of the coming journey swam before her closed eyes.


End file.
